


Caught in the Act – by Greg Lestrade

by ShirleyCarlton



Series: Caught In The Act [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Established Relationship, Greg gets more than he bargained for, Humour, Lestrade's POV, M/M, Walking In On Someone, bottomlock, obliviously walking in on Sherlock and John, unintended voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-18
Updated: 2015-05-18
Packaged: 2018-03-31 03:18:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3962440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShirleyCarlton/pseuds/ShirleyCarlton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mrs. Hudson had tried to warn him, Greg realised afterwards, but how the fuck was he supposed to have known what she’d <i>really</i> meant when she’d said Sherlock and John were “very busy right now”?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Caught in the Act – by Greg Lestrade

**Author's Note:**

> This is the second of a series of four scenarios written from the points of view of four different people as they accidentally walk in on Sherlock and John having sex. :)  
> (I’m not sure these all take place in the same universe though, as Sherlock and John would be pretty stupid not to lock their door after the first or second time. :D )
> 
> Each of the stories can be read independently.
> 
> Many thanks once more to [mydogwatson](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mydogwatson/) for betaing and [Redcrow](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Redcrow/pseuds/Redcrow)/[thescienceofjohnlock](http://thescienceofjohnlock.tumblr.com/) for the Brit-pick!
> 
>  
> 
> _Russian translation by the wonderful mariar:[Пойманы с поличным: Грег Лестрейд](https://ficbook.net/readfic/3376169)_

“Hey, Greg.” Sally lifted the crime scene tape and ducked underneath to approach him. She honestly had a knack for intercepting him just as he was about to head off some place else.

“Can it wait, Sally? I’m about to set out for Sherlock’s to show him some pictures of the scene. According to his text, he’s ‘too busy’ to come here himself. Your lucky day, apparently.” He managed a comic fake-smile. “Not bloody mine, anyway,” he couldn’t help adding in a grumble. He took a deep breath to compose himself. “Hell, if he spots _anything_ at all that we missed, it might definitely speed things up for us here, you know, seeing as we haven’t got, well, a single lead.” He dragged a hand over his mouth, cursing inwardly, once again, at how the day had gone. He needed a pint, more than anything. And he would definitely get one as soon as he was done at Baker Street. “So if you could make it quick, that would be greatly appreciated,” he said with a sigh.

Sally looked at him defiantly from under her raised eyebrows and silently pushed into his hand one of the paper cups of coffee she’d been holding.

“Ah. Thanks.” First coffee, then beer. Not a bad idea. “Sorry.”

He let out a long breath and took several large gulps of the lukewarm brew.

Definitely time to leave this place.

* * * * *

“Oh hello, detective _inspector_.” Mrs. Hudson’s voice sounded slightly more high-pitched than he remembered.

“Good evening, Mrs. Hudson.” He had to make an effort not to sound as knackered as he actually was. “Just here to drop off some pictures for Sherlock to take a look at,” he told her with a smile, stepping into the hall.

“Well, they’re actually... _very_ busy right now,” she said, her voice suddenly low and conspiratorial. The poor woman looked a bit flushed. Had he interrupted her elliptical trainer workout? “It might be best not to disturb them at the minute,” she added, articulating rather exaggeratedly. She reminded him of the next-door neighbour back when he was a kid: overly sweet to the point of being a tad annoying.

“Yeah, I know, he mentioned it, which is why I came all the way here to hand him these personally.” He smiled a bit more to placate her. “It will only take two minutes,” he added reassuringly.

He frowned, suddenly becoming aware of the sound of furniture being shoved around above them. Typically some kind of Holmes hands-on experiment, seeing as nothing was ever too crazy to try out for these two.

Greg grinned, unzipping his coat as he started for the stairs. He had long since gotten used to the unconventional methods of his consulting detective. Just then, he heard John calling “Sherlock!” in a rather desperate tone of voice, as if Sherlock were up to something awful again, which would be no surprise.

“Oh, but you might as well give them to me,” Mrs. Hudson called after him, squealing in a way that was only endearing coming from elderly ladies.

“It’s alright, Mrs. Hudson, honestly; there’s no need. He’ll probably solve the case just by looking at these for less than half a minute; you know him.” He winked at her, a gesture that seemed to have a magical effect on ladies her age and one that he was never reluctant to use, and went up the stairs.

Once on the landing, he knocked, momentarily wondering whether they would be able to hear him above all the scraping of furniture legs, but he quickly heard Sherlock cry a loud “Yes!”, surprisingly followed by a second “yes!” as Greg was already in the process of opening the door – which he briefly found strange, but didn’t give too much thought to in that moment.

A second later, he wished he had.

All the furniture was still in the same place – more or less.

Sherlock and John were not in the middle of an experiment. (At least, Greg prayed to god that wasn’t what this was.)

For several wild seconds, he couldn’t move or breathe. He just looked at the scene before him without wanting to see.

Sherlock was bent over the desk, one cheek pressed to the wooden surface, his trousers half-way down his thighs, just like those of John, who was standing behind him, firmly gripping Sherlock’s hips and steadily pumping into him – head thrown back and eyes squeezed shut in delight.

They hadn’t seen or heard him.

He had to get away, fast, but his legs seemed to have stopped taking orders from his brain. Or maybe his brain had simply stopped working altogether.

“Oh god, Sherlock...” John moaned, rather loudly.

Greg could suddenly place the desperate tone in quite a different context. Well, maybe the two were related, who knew. For a brief second, the thought crossed his mind that Sherlock probably pretty much deserved to be bent over like this by John, after having driven him up the walls like Greg knew he could. Then again, Sherlock definitely seemed to be enjoying this, judging by the expression of utter bliss on his face: his eyes closed, eye-brows high on his forehead, mouth half-open in a lazy smile, slack with pleasure – as Greg had never imagined possible between that set of cheekbones. Sherlock’s eager arse was sticking high up in the air for John to take (which he did with rather a large amount of enthusiasm indeed, Greg observed almost amusedly).

But, above all, Greg was decidedly struck by the perfect harmony of what he was seeing: the way Sherlock and John seemed to seamlessly fit together and were exactly in the same place, both clearly wanting precisely what the other one was giving.

Greg suddenly felt his throat had gone dry and he swallowed, telling himself once again to close the bloody door and get out.

Just then, John carefully bowed down over Sherlock’s back, resting one hand on the desk and reaching below Sherlock with his other hand.

_Oh god, he was probably tossing him off now._

Greg promptly received confirmation of that by Sherlock’s panting “John, oh... yes... please...”

John, meanwhile, gradually slowed down his movements to a casual rolling of his hips, and started planting touchingly gentle kisses along Sherlock’s spine – as if every brush of his lips was a declaration of love, Greg thought. The notion conjured an actual smile to his face, completely against his will, but there it was.

As much as Greg wanted to slam the door closed and leave, he just didn’t seem able to tear his eyes away from the pair of lovers. There was something almost magical about seeing them like this: John moving so very smoothly (the bastard was pretty damn good at this, he could tell) and Sherlock producing the most exquisite primordial little sounds from his throat in response.

Sherlock had finally found love.

Crikey, what a way to find out that he and John were an actual item after all. If they hadn’t kept it a bloody secret, he wouldn’t have just bloody barged in on them like that, would he, now?  
Well, he _had_ knocked. And the timing of Sherlock’s cry... God, it had all been an extremely awkward coincidence, hadn’t it? He really shouldn’t feel so guilty about witnessing what he was seeing right now. Still, remaining to stand there for more than the ten or twenty seconds that had passed, would definitely make it weird. Seeing as his brain appeared to finally have booted again, he started slowly pulling the doorknob he was still holding, to very carefully close the door, when, to his horror, John’s head suddenly jerked in his direction.

They all froze, eyes wide.

The only movements were those of John’s chest still subtly heaving from exertion and Sherlock’s eyelids blinking rather stupidly indeed – and making him look even less like the genius Greg had come here to see.

Then again, Greg was probably making quite a pretty picture himself; standing there stupidly with his jaw dropped, clutching his silly envelope with pictures.

John opened his mouth with the apparent intention of cursing him, but before a full syllable had come out, Greg cried, “Alright! I will just leave you to it then.” And he slammed the door shut before hurrying back down the stairs, the banging of his heart in serious competition with the stomping of his shoes.

And why was his prick suddenly displaying an opinion, for fuck’s sake? God, this couldn’t get any worse, could it?  
Still, he could feel a ridiculous grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

He tried not to startle Mrs. Hudson as he firmly pulled the front door closed in haste on his way out onto the street.

What a day.

All he knew for certain was that he needed a pint, and fast. And first thing in the morning, he was going to solve this wretched case, by himself. At all cost did he have to avoid coming face to face with Sherlock Holmes or John Watson for the next ten years or so.

**Author's Note:**

> Next up is Mummy Holmes paying the boys an unexpected visit... ;) Hope to post before the end of the week.


End file.
